


This Cursed Sixth Sense

by Vampiyaa



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiyaa/pseuds/Vampiyaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor's new body is proving to be a burden, with its oversensitiveness and desire to touch. Rose, it seems, makes it worse. He loves his little companion, but he chooses not to poison her, not when the TARDIS bombards his mind with images of her undressing, not when they're stuck in the dark, not even when he dreams of her naked every night. Until the TARDIS chooses for him. Interfering TARDIS!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Cursed Sixth Sense

This Cursed Sixth Sense 

The Doctor, Rose noticed, seemed to be different lately. Well, she thought, it’s to be expected— after all, it hadn’t even been a few weeks since the beam of golden light regenerated him into a brand new body. This body, however, seemed to be jittery, itching to touch and smell and taste everything in sight. She’d first noticed it in the TARDIS, a day after a dapper suit and sideburns replaced large ears and leather jackets. Rose had been sitting near the TARDIS console, talking about her last visit to her mum. She stopped mid-word after spotting the Doctor inattentively running his fingers over one of the coral struts.

“Quit shagging the TARDIS,” she’d laughed, and he glanced up and grinned at her. 

His smile had changed too— it wasn’t that slightly silly one he’d always had before. Now it was more charming, more suave. 

During the week that followed, the severity of his newfound sensitivity increased bit by bit. At the beginning the Doctor revelled in it— at one point he bounced around the TARDIS, Rose watching as he ran his hands over everything, excitedly remarking, “ _Rose, this is brilliant_!” 

One time, upon visiting Rose’s mum, the Doctor had spent a minute poking at Mickey’s newly shaved head until he screeched, “OI!” prompting Rose to spit out tea in a fit of laughter.

The Doctor’s first conflict in his new body happened when he took Rose and the TARDIS to the planet Luneflora, a planet populated by fairy-like creatures wearing clothing made of flower petals. At first it had been lovely— Luneflora’s vegetation glowed in faint lilac and deep violet colours, and every time they’d touched a flower it burst into bloom with a song-like ‘laa’ sound, prompting the Doctor to cheerfully ‘laa’ every flower in the whole field. Then they found out people on Luneflora were mysteriously vanishing every night; Luneflorans had tried every booby trap and security system they could invent with nothing more than vines and leaves, and yet still the abductor was undetected. He had been pacing through the field while Rose watched him, sitting idly on a rock. She’d only seen him this agitated a handful of times— when they’d faced the Gelth, when they’d been trapped in the hospital basement during the Blitz, when they’d stood by watching her father about to get hit by that car…

“Rose, give me your hand,” he ordered, snapping her out of her reverie. 

“Er, okay.” She frowned, obediently holding out her hand. 

He grasped it tightly. It shocked Rose—not because of the simple gesture, since they held hands frequently—but because his fingers were absently stroking the soft skin of her palm far more intimately than normal. It actually seemed to help, since his eyes lit up and he burst out, “That’s it!” 

Their handholding inspired a Doctor/sonic combined booby trap, which sought out people only present for bad intentions. It turned out to be the Queen behind all of the disappearances, whose attitude reminded Rose of Cassandra the bitch trampoline. She’d spun the missing people into cocoons and eaten them, a concept that still made Rose sick to her stomach. 

They’d returned to the TARDIS, laughing and holding hands and trilling bouquets of Laa flowers. She tried not to be flustered because the pads on his fingertips kept tracing ticklish circles in her palm. _Calm down_ , she always told herself, _his senses are on hyper drive right now, that’s all_. Rose half-loved it and half-hated it. 

As did the Doctor, who behind his slightly manic grins was in living hell. Sure, his new body was a far cry prettier than the last—although he would so have liked to be ginger this time around— but his new body’s senses seemed to be like tiny explosions. Constantly, he was aware of the feeling of his clothes brushing against his skin every time he so much as moved a micron. Every scent, every touch, was so prominent it almost hurt. Being around Rose made it worse. Her scent of raspberry shampoo assaulted his nose and made him dizzy; he’d just glance at her hair or some exposed part of bare skin and immediately crave to touch it, smell it, kiss it, _lick it_. He didn’t understand— his old body hadn’t been anywhere near this insane! Sure, he’d entertained the thought several times of kissing her, and he’d always rather enjoyed holding her hand. A few times, he’d even entertained the thought of what sex with her would be like. Yes, he did end up kissing her to save her from the Vortex when she was Bad Wolf. Truth be told, he could have absorbed the Vortex another way, but he hadn’t wanted to, and thought he may as well indulge himself in a Rose Tyler Kiss before he died—but now it seemed he wanted _so bloody badly_ to pounce on her and suck on her lips and rip of her clothes and run his hands over every single inch of soft, quivering flesh until she—

“Doctor, can we visit my mum?” Rose suddenly snapped him out of it. 

He scowled, both at the prospect of seeing Jackie again and at the shameful thoughts that had entered his mind. “We saw her last week. Besides, she hit me with a spoon,” he added, pouting as he concentrated on tracing figure eights on Rose’s divinely soft hand. 

“You did call her pasta ‘a barmy old pile of Slitheen skin’,” Rose reminded him with a giggle. 

The Doctor grinned at her (and at the memory of his rather intelligent quip), but internally he was extremely aware of how her glistening, soft-as-silk lower lip was captured by her teeth. “Fine. But not long. I want to show you… ehm… a chocolate planet,” he said idly. “In the Jakota sector.”

“There is no chocolate planet— you’re just trying to coax me out of it,” Rose scoffed, letting go of his hand and missing the look of utter devastation that flickered over his face at the loss. “I’m gonna take a shower, yeah? Then we’ll go.”

“I’ll set in the coordinates then,” the Doctor said, watching her sashay around the console and out of sight. 

The moment she left he sank into one of the nearby console chairs and let out a frustrated growl. The thought of standing together underneath a spray of deliciously warm water and running his hands over every inch of bare skin he could reach was pounding into his skull, making him want to run after her and do just that. The TARDIS actually hummed at his thoughts, as though actually _agreeing with him_. Hm, if that’s what the TARDIS reckoned about his idea then maybe—

 _No_. The Doctor pounded his fist on the console, did it a second time just to enjoy what it felt like, and then half-slammed in the coordinates for Earth. Briefly, as the humming began to fade once they reached their destination, the TARDIS showed him a mental image of a door. The Doctor frowned at his console at the image, before his breath hitched in his throat.

“Rose’s bathroom!” he burst out on a horrified whisper. Rassilon, the TARDIS was more barking than he was! Which was saying something, as now all he could concentrate on was running his hands over the smooth edges of the console. 

“What are you doing?” Rose giggled, making him jump. 

She was done already? How long had he been simply lost in the feeling of coolness and metal? 

“Shagging the TARDIS?” he suggested, and she burst out laughing.

He couldn’t laugh with her though, no matter how utterly witty what he said was. The ends of her hair were dripping, soaking the front of her shirt, which had a plunging neckline and revealed the tops of a pair of smooth, soft globes… oh, he wanted to touch them… The TARDIS hummed again, making him realise he’d been staring with his eyes half-drooped, and resolved to fix that by beaming at her. 

“Alright then,” Rose sighed, placing her hand on her hip. “Stow it for now, Doctor, and let’s go.” 

“Right-o,” the Doctor said, though he trailed his fingers over the railing as they exited the TARDIS.

*

The visit to Jackie’s went as expected— they’d walked in, Jackie hugged her daughter, gave her usual speech about how she shouldn’t ‘run around jumping on godforsaken planets with some bloody alien in a moving box’, glared at him for a bit and tried to make them eat some new awful concoction. The Doctor wasn’t surprised to find himself accepting each and every time she said, “Try this,” just for the experience. Most of it was rather like eating his plimsolls or a Dalek (though he’d never done either of those things before).

Rose watched him intently as he lifted a fork of something Jackie called ‘cream surprise’, which was egg white and looked like gooey mash with too much milk. He smacked his lips, a serious expression on him, before he turned to Jackie, beaming, and said, “That was worse than the excrements of the Mighty Jagrafess.” 

Jackie scowled, and Rose laughed. “No more experiments, mum, you’re gonna kill him.” She jumped out of her chair and tugged on his suit sleeve; instinctively his hand clasped over hers, and he tried to avoid Jackie’s piercing stare. “Let’s go to that chocolate planet you were telling me about.”

“The one that you think doesn’t exist?” the Doctor replied with a beam. “There is one, mind you— but you can’t eat it.”

“Well, what’s the point of going, then?” Jackie exclaimed, waving her spoon and getting gobs of ‘cream surprise’ on the wall.

Rose pouted in agreement. He wished she wouldn’t— now he wanted to lift his finger and prod at the puckered flesh, lean down and lick it, take it between his lips and suck on it… 

“Well, you can eat it, but it does have a few nasty side effects,” he said cheerfully, absently tracing a word in Gallifreyan on her palm.

She seemed unaffected by his prodding, almost used to it. He wasn’t sure if that was good. “Like what?”

“Oh, just rapid hair loss, skin turning green, eyes melt into pudding and oh-so-enjoyable _death_.” The Doctor grinned at Jackie, imagining her bald and green and eyeless. “Nothing much, really.”

Jackie looked nauseous but Rose was giggling. There she went again with the blasted giggling. Didn’t she notice whenever she did that his posture stiffened, and his eyes glazed over, and he—

“Are you sure you wouldn’t fancy hanging about for a fortnight or two?” Jackie asked Rose, giving him a sideways glare as if telling him to quit mind-shagging her daughter. Or to indicate what she felt about him dragging her daughter to other planets and times. He sincerely hoped it was the latter. 

“I told you, mum,” said Rose sternly, finalising the matter with a tug on the Doctor’s hand. “See you in a bit.”

“Later,” said Jackie gloomily.

They’d parked the TARDIS in the usual alley near the parking complex. The Doctor was pleased to see it for some reason— he wasn’t sure if it was his eagerness to get going, or if it was because he’d have more excuses to touch things without Jackie hanging over his shoulder like a dead goose. They walked back to it in a comfortable silence, night draping over them with a slight chill. He spent the time wondering whether or not Rose was cold, and if he ought to give her his jacket, but he decided against it because the thought of having his scent draped over his shoulders would drive him mad.

“Where to next, Rose Tyler?” he asked excitedly, tightening his grip on her hand before she had a chance to pull away and bouncing over to the console. 

“Dunno, don’t really have any of that Time Lord knowledge,” Rose said sarcastically, but she was grinning. 

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply with something witty, but his voice got stuck in his throat when he noticed her backside pressed against one of the coral struts. _Oh bloody hell, he wished he was the TARDIS right about now_ …

“Right-o,” he said instead, using Rose’s captured hand to aid in pressing buttons on the console, and she laughed. 

He was wondering vaguely if she felt the same way he did, every time his fingertips made contact with the cool metal, when the TARDIS suddenly powered down with a loud bang and a hum decreasing in volume. Rose cried out and tripped over the edge of the strut, colliding with him just as the lights in the control room shut off, plunging them both into absolute darkness. 

Then there was silence. Real silence— not the kind usually present in the TARDIS, with a droning ambient sound that faded into the background, but a real deathly quietness. The two of them were still as statues for different reasons; the Doctor, because _fuck_ , her arms were around his waist now and her bosom was pressed against his chest, and he was certain that if he moved a micron he’d attack her in all probability. Rose, because she was waiting for the TARDIS to turn back on (and also, truth be told, she rather liked being this close to the Doctor).

“Er, Doctor?” Rose whispered after a full minute of silence. “What’s going on?” 

“Hmmm…?” All he could concentrate on was her breasts. What was she talking about? “Oh right, the TARDIS… heh…” It only just registered that everything had just powered down. “Weeell… I haven’t a clue,” he finished lamely. 

Rose pulled away from him and he almost yanked her back. It cleared his mind a bit, though, enough for the severity of the situation to hit him. “Has this happened before?”

“Never, never…” the Doctor muttered, running a hand through his hair and repeating the action when he found the sensation to be pleasing. “This is bad.” He paused for a moment, trying to communicate telepathically with the TARDIS, but she seemed to be ignoring him. _Bother_. “She won’t answer me either. Hang on a mo’, I’ll get my sonic.” 

Rose leaned against the coral strut in the darkness, listening to the rustling of fabric, footsteps and then a clanging sound, followed by a dull thud and a loud, “Ow.”

“Did you just trip?” Rose asked amusedly, trying to imagine the Doctor sprawled over the TARDIS floor. 

“Where’s my sonic?” he said instead of answering, feeling around on the ground for it. 

“Hang on, I’ll find a torch,” Rose suggested, holding out her arms in the darkness so as not to bang into anything. “D’you reckon the TARDIS is broken?” 

“She’s part-organic, and it’s not like we were just in a space battle,” the Doctor reminded her. “Ah, here’s the bugger!” 

Using the eerie blue light on the end of his sonic he made his way over to the console, bending underneath it to tinker as Rose’s footsteps faded down the hallway. A moment later she returned, making an odd clunking noise. 

“I couldn’t find a torch,” Rose announced, venturing towards the blue light. “But the TARDIS was stocked with candles and matches.” 

_Since when?_ the Doctor wondered. There were plenty of torches, and the TARDIS didn’t have candles because he never used them. Was she… doing this on purpose? The thought was immediately squashed— unless the TARDIS had gone loopy, she wouldn’t purposely power herself down. What reason was there to do that anyway? 

Rose lit a match and then a bushel of candles, placing them haphazardly all around the console room, throwing it into a merrily flickering orange light. Trying to be helpful, she knelt down next to the Doctor, whose head was still stuck underneath the console, and held a candle near his sonic to better light his point of work. This didn’t help at all, truth be told— he was horribly aware of her thigh pressing against his leg, and he glanced up to see her fetching face illuminated with dancing light from the candle’s flame. It was oddly… romantic. He squashed that thought at once as well and tried to concentrate on his tinkering. 

“Bother,” he muttered, setting down his sonic with a sigh. There was nothing wrong that he could see. “This might take a while.”

“Maybe we ought to crash at Mum’s? Maybe not,” Rose added hastily at the nauseous look on his face. 

“You go, if you want,” he said, going at it with his sonic again when, really, he was internally screaming ‘ _please don’t please don’t PLEASE DON’T.’_

“No, I want to stay with you,” she replied, making a shivery pang of _something_ shoot down his spine. 

By all the creative curses in Gallifreyan, that innocent sentence made him go cross-eyed every time he tried to concentrate on his sonic. All he could think about was pulling his head out from underneath the console, turning to her and showing her just how good it would be if she stayed with him (and he wasn’t even sure what he’d show her!). 

Damn it, had any of his other companions been this big of a problem? The only one he could think of who he’d found even remotely bothersome was Katarina, back literally centuries ago when he’d had his first body (and what a terrible one it was indeed— old and flyaway and _not ginger_ ). She’d floated around the TARDIS calling it ‘the Palace of Perfection’ and calling him ‘ _Lord’_ of all things, something that still brought up a twinge of annoyance… even after her tragic death. Still, it hadn’t bothered him as much as having this lovely pink and yellow woman’s scent draped over him like a sheet, suffocating him. Most of his other companions had left with a firm and grateful handshake, a teary goodbye, maybe an abrupt hug. Rose’s hugs were different, all soft and warm and smelling good.

Damn, he had to _concentrate_! How was she able to make his life so complicated, and yet in a way he enjoyed so much with _both_ of his hearts? Muting a growl, he reached out with his free hand and grasped hers tightly again. It helped, but only a bit.

Rose bit her lip, trying not to grin as his fingers twined with hers. It seemed that holding her hand helped her new Doctor concentrate. It was odd, really— her first Doctor was never grope-y like this one. They’d held hands on several occasions, and he was always up for a nice post-danger hug but he’d never affectionately brush his thumb on the inside of her palm, or tighten his grip on her fingers, or gently pull her hand up to his mouth and press it against his lips…

…like he was now. She stared at the Doctor, who was _kissing_ her wrist. He didn’t seem to notice what he was doing; his eyes were locked on the console panel and the movements of his sonic. She glanced away, blushing orange in the candlelight. _S’alright_ , she tried to tell herself, _it’s probably that new sensitivity thing from regenerating_. Rose chomped down on her lip to stop herself from moaning when his lips idly parted against her skin and trailed up to the base of her thumb. 

She realised she’d been staring at him in her reverie and hastily dropped her gaze to the floor. A good twenty minutes went by in a comfortable silence save for the tiny droning of the sonic and the crackling of candles. Rose leaned at ease against the underside of the TARDIS’ console, her eyes starting to droop as the Doctor continued to trail his mouth over her hand and occasionally her wrist. Rose started a bit as the Doctor finally dropped his sonic and sighed against her hand. 

“What’s the problem, then?” Rose asked, knowing the answer wasn’t going to be good. 

“There absolutely nothing wrong,” the Doctor growled, pushing her hand closer against his mouth. “Not technologically anyway. I think… I think she’s just decided not to work,” he finished, the conclusion sounding stupid even to his own ears. 

“Why not? Does she honestly like London that much?” Rose grinned, trying to loosen the mood.

“Dunno, maybe,” he said, though he knew that wasn’t the case. 

If she would just _stop ignoring him_ and tell him what the problem was, he’d fix it. Then he froze. By Rassilon, he was holding Rose’s hand. Well, that was fine, but he was kissing it. He’d been _holding and kissing her hand_ for the past half hour! His blush faded into the orange hue of the candlelight. The Doctor chanced an embarrassed glance at Rose, who seemed unaffected by the fact that his lips were practically devouring her hand. Did that mean she didn’t mind, or was used to it? Or both? Either way, that wasn’t good. 

It wasn’t that late in the night, only around nine or ten-ish, but the dim lighting made it feel much later. It was for that reason that he suggested Rose head off to bed, as she looked tired and he probably wouldn’t be able to restrain himself if she fell asleep in his arms. Restrain himself from _what_ , he didn’t know, but that wasn’t the point. Rose looked like she was going to protest but didn’t, hugging him tightly and bidding him goodnight before grabbing a candle for herself and leaving. 

The Doctor watched her until she was out of sight, before sagging against the console. Oh, the things she did to him! He couldn’t live like this, being constantly assaulted by her without her even knowing it. He wondered for a split second if he should send her home, but the thought of never seeing her again made a lump rise in his throat and he knew at once that he couldn’t do it. Not to her. His other companions he’d bid farewell to with little more than a second thought, maybe a nice remembrance now and again, but he knew that if he ever lost Rose, the thought of her would mug his brain for the rest of his life.

He’d just have to restrain himself, that was it. 

*

Rose woke early in the morning, her eyes heavy from lack of sleep. It’d been hard to fall asleep without the gentle hum of the TARDIS, and when she finally had, it had been brief and fitful. Muttering a few choice curses under her breath, she tossed off the pink fluffy covers, smoothing out her kip shorts and yanking down her shirt, which had hiked itself up to mid-rib. She padded out into the dark corridor, trying to feel her way back into the console room where the Doctor was no doubt still up tinkering. The end of the corridor was glowing dimly with orange light, and Rose hurried towards it, wondering how many candles were left. 

As she’d suspected the Doctor was still awake, his head craned underneath the console. Only six candles were left, all fat and nearing the bottom, dribbling wax all over the floors. One spluttered out as she entered. Make that five. 

“Rose, you’re up early,” said the Doctor idly. “Nightmare?”

“Nah, couldn’t sleep without the TARDIS,” she said, sitting down next to him. He visibly tensed up when his eyes skimmed over her legs, bare until mid-thigh. “Have you been at this all night?” she added, wrapping her and around his arm and pulling him out from underneath the console.

The Doctor sighed at her touch and let her draw him away from the mess of wires. He winced— his back and neck hurt from being hunched over for hours. Rose spotted this and drew his back into her chest, and her hands slipped underneath his jacket… oh dear…

“ _Rose_ …” gurgled out of his throat as she began massaging his shoulders. ‘Rose what are you doing?’ had been his question, but now he didn’t care was she was doing, or the fact that he’d said her name on a moan. His head lolled forward a bit as her lithe fingers gently but firmly prodded the soreness away, and it was wonderful. What would it feel like, he wondered with his last bit of coherent thought, if there wasn’t the fabric of his shirt separating her fingers from his skin?

Rose bit her lip, smiling as she felt him slump against her. Ever since the Doctor regenerated and discovered his affinity for touching things, she’d wondered what he would do if she ever gave him a back massage. And right now, in the little candlelight left, he looked like he needed one. It was also comforting, knowing she was pleasing her bloke… except he wasn’t her bloke, she reminded herself a bit sadly. Still, it didn’t hurt to pretend for a bit.

The Doctor was in a haze of pleasure, his eyes drooping with tiredness. Usually he was able to put off sleep for a good two weeks, if need be, but Rose’s fingers made him feel like it’d been a month. When was the last time he slept? Last week, wasn’t it? And yet he just wanted to lean back into her embrace, nestle his head on the soft cushion of her breasts and have a kip, and dream of her as he always did nowadays. The TARDIS hummed in agreement in his mind, prodded him by showing him images of himself lolling back against her already…

The TARDIS! She was back! He didn’t bother tensing up or pulling away from Rose (or telling her, for that matter), but inquired angrily as to why she suddenly decided to force them to grope around in the dark. Grope around… This time he really did freeze. The TARDIS knew he always let down barriers over her, like the time they’d been stuck on the impossible planet underneath the black hole and he’d been sure she was lost forever. And the darkness… they’d be forced to use touch to manoeuvre around, work together, find each other… The TARDIS hid all the torches and replaced them with candles because… she thought it would be _romantic!_

The TARDIS was _playing matchmaker!_

He gaped in the half-darkness, horrified, and then shouted in his mind at her. Who the bloody hell did she think she was, taking advantage of this new body’s attraction to Rose and forcing him to… to… to do tempting things?! Like right now, for instance! Rose’s wonderful fingers wouldn’t be dancing over his back if the TARDIS hadn’t gone dark, and he hadn’t been forced to tinker around to figure out what the hell was wrong. The TARDIS actually shouted back, in a way, filling his mind with a sharp, angry-sounding screech and firmly showing him images on a constant loop of him holding Rose, gripping her hand, kissing her palm, shooting her longing looks of adoration, staring at her arse or breasts and looking up only when she turned around… 

Good Rassilon, did he really _do_ that? He looked like a little boy fawning over his crush, or at the very most a complete pervert! The Doctor, calmly but firmly, told the TARDIS that he would not under any circumstances yield to these feelings, no matter what nonsense she tried to pull. The TARDIS responded with the furious screeching noise again, and with a gust of wind the remaining candles all died at the same time. Rose’s fingers froze on his shoulder blades as they were plunged into complete darkness again. 

“S’pose you’re right about the TARDIS doing this on purpose,” she remarked confusedly. “There’s no way all of those candles went out by themselves by coincidence.” 

“Indeed,” the Doctor muttered under his breath, ignoring his wish for her fingers to resume their work and hoisting himself and Rose upright. 

“I wonder why, though,” Rose said, taking a match out of her pocket and lighting a full, spare candle she’d left on the console. Then, by the light of the single candle, she stilled. “Hang on, that’s it!” 

The Doctor froze, still as a statue, glad for the darkness as his face had just blanched. “Wh-wh-what’s it?” _Oh dear_. Had she figured it out?

“That must be why the TARDIS is staying put and making everything dark!” Rose said, gripping his hand. When had they started holding hands? “The TARDIS wants you to sleep!” 

The Doctor actually sagged with relief. Rose was clever, and her theory did actually have merit… after all she didn’t know that the TARDIS’s actual reaction to his putting off sleep for too long was a loud ringing in his ears that nearly always made him jump and break whatever he was holding. “I doubt that, silly Rose Tyler.” 

“Oh yeah?” she challenged. “When was the last time you slept? Properly,” she added before he could open his mouth. “As in eight straight hours.”

He racked his brains. The past half a year he’d spent travelling with Rose, he’d allowed himself to sleep on fourteen different days, and each time had only been four or five hours, as his dreams were either plagued with visions of the dreaded Time War or of a very naked and willing Rose Tyler. Which was worse, he wasn’t sure, as both times he’d wake up covered in sweat, though one included mindless guilt and the other a certain painful throbbing below his hips.

“Errm…” he said. “I can’t remember.” 

“I rest my case,” Rose said, her hold on his hand tightening as she pulled him out of the console room. 

His stammering protests fell on deaf ears, and at first he almost died with panic when he wondered if she was leading him to her room (would he be able to restrain himself if she invited him in there?) but instead she turned through a door to the left. It was what Rose called the common room, complete with several cushy armchairs and a couch placed in front of a telly that got every station, like the monitor in the console room. Rose plopped herself into the nearest armchair, which was large enough for three people to curl up in comfortably, and actually spread her legs calmly as if she did it every day. A sort of helpless whimper got stuck in his throat when she patted the large empty space between her legs. Oh how he’d love to forever be positioned between her lovely thighs… 

Lost in thought and shock, he just stood there like a dolt, staring at her. With an impatient huff she pulled him by the hand, but instead of wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him forward so he could ravish her like his imagination was screaming, she spun him around so that he was facing away from her. Rose sat him down, each of her legs on either side of him, and resumed her earlier massage, making him melt against her again. His neck and back had stopped hurting long ago because of her talented fingers but Rose didn’t have to know that, did she? The Doctor let out a pleased groan, _almost_ ignoring the fact that her thighs were clamped around his waist. Her fingers stopped for the briefest second, and he could sense the air of hesitation come around her. 

“Um… Doctor?” she whispered. 

“Hmm?” 

She paused for a bit, “D’you… have nightmares?” 

“Yep,” he replied almost casually. 

Wait, how did she know that…? His posture must have stiffened, because Rose hastily said, “Well, it’s just because… a couple of times I’ve not been able to sleep, so I’ll get up to make a cuppa… and…” Her voice trailed off. Ah, she heard him. “‘M sorry. Wish I could help,” she finished, sounding upset. 

What was it with humans and feeling sorry for others? If she was really that distressed over his nightmares then she ought to just wander into his bedroom and wake him up, calm him down with soothing touches, slip into bed with him and snuggle until he fell back asleep… 

“S’not your fault.” The Doctor smiled instead, patting her knee fondly and immediately regretting it when he found it difficult to pull his hand away. Of course, it wasn’t helping that her bloody talented hands were doing a tango against his back, making him turn to putty in her hold. 

Rose sighed, her breath tickling his ear and making him lean closer to her mouth. “I know.”

The Doctor yawned and tried to open his mouth to stupidly tell her that next time she heard him, she was more than welcome to come in so he could have an excuse to hold her. The only thing that came out of his mouth was a pleased, sleepy gurgle before his head lolled back onto the soft pillow of her breasts and he was out like a light. 

Rose rolled her eyes and stopped her massage to look at him. Only one time before had she seen the Doctor asleep and looking so gentle, and that time had been one where she couldn’t appreciate it, as she was both stricken with grief over having ‘lost’ her Doctor and terrified over the Sycorax invasion. Not to mention the fact that Father Christmases were shooting at her through tubas and French horns. Now, by the light of the single candle, she could almost will herself to believe that he wasn’t a jittery old Time Lord plagued with wanderlust, but a regular and albeit exhausted bloke seeking comfort in her embrace. 

Her eyes focused on his mane of sort-of-brown hair, and she had to stifle a giggle when she remembered him yanking his fingers through it shouting, “I’ve got _hair!_ I’ve got _tons of it!_ ” Rose let her hands leave his shoulders and trail through his sort-of-brown-and-not-ginger locks. They were abnormally soft to the touch— perks of being an all-powerful Time Lord, she reckoned. The Doctor actually whimpered when her nails scraped over his scalp, prompting a rush of womanly pride to swoop in her stomach. 

She wished she could kiss him. Well, she always wished she could do that, but being snuggled up with him, enveloped in his scent and being pleasantly warm made the urge more prominent. Jackie and Mickey went on for hours about how the Doctor supposedly looked at her when her back was turned, how he looked ‘besotted’ and ‘enamoured’ to use Jackie’s phrasing, and how there was no doubt in their minds he was in love with her. Rose insisted it wasn’t true, because this was the Doctor they were talking about and the Doctor doesn’t love. At least, not _her_ anyway. If the Doctor _could_ love, he wouldn’t love a stupid ape like her. 

After meeting Sarah Jane Smith, former companion, and hearing how the Doctor had just left her behind one day and found it so easy to just forget her, Rose knew someday that would be her. One day, she’d either die early during one of their adventures, or she’d die an old woman abandoned on Earth. And the Doctor would just keep running, and he’d take on another companion after her. It hurt to admit it, but it was the truth.

“ _Some things are worth getting your heart broken for. Find me if you need to one day. Find me._ ”

Sarah Jane’s words echoed in her head. Rose had walked away knowing that, one day, she’d have no choice but to take her up on that offer. Rose sniffled as she imagined herself and Sarah Jane hugging each other in Jackie’s flat, sobbing together over the loss of their weird little alien. Rose pulled one hand away to wipe her eyes before chuckling. Blimey, she was being stupid. She’d already made peace with the future abandonment that had yet to come. 

It made it worse, being in love with him. 

*

Oh, he was _sooo comfortable_. The Doctor sighed, mind groggy from his lovely sleep, and snuggled closer into the warm, soft something. He kept his still-heavy eyes shut, but scanned himself internally to see how long he’d slept. _Blimey_ , a good nine and a half hours. He felt _great_. Ah, humans and their sleep. He always used to chide them about how desperately they needed to be unconscious, but he supposed this was why they needed it so bad, because this felt _so bloody good_. 

What had he been dreaming about again? It wasn’t—thank Rassilon—the Time War, or provocative Rose Tyler… oh, but Rose had been in it, yes… only she wasn’t stripped bare. Ah, right, they’d been back on Luneflora having a kip among the Laa flowers, snuggled together underneath his jacket. Hm, lovely, lovely… 

“What’s lovely?” whispered Rose next to his ear. 

Had he said that out loud? The Doctor froze as his rationality returned. Oh sod it, he’d fallen asleep. Between her legs. On her breasts. _Rassilon help me_. He tried composed himself, but as though sensing his panic Rose pulled out her arms, which had been squished between them half the night, and started massaging his back _again_. And _again_ his mind went fuzzy.

“Dream,” he managed to grunt out.

“Was it about bananas?” There was amusement in her voice. 

“No not— hang on, why bananas?”

“Bananas are good. Someone keeps telling me that,” she teased. 

“Well they _are_ ,” the Doctor said earnestly, arching his back a bit to give her better access. 

“So then it wasn’t about bananas?” 

“Weeell, no, not quite.”

A pause. “I wasn’t wrong about the TARDIS wanting you to sleep.”

He gestured with one hand in the darkness. “Yeah? It’s still dark.”

“Yeah, but she made me a cuppa when I asked, early this morning,” Rose said, prodding between his shoulder blades and almost making him purr. “Dunno what her motives are for keeping us in the dark, but it must be something otherwise she wouldn’t do it.”

_Oh, it’s something all right, Rose Tyler._

He sank into bliss as Rose continued her ministrations, vaguely remarking in his mind that he probably looked silly. The TARDIS happily responded to this thought by showing him an outside image of himself and Rose in their current position, making him gawk (internally of course). Sodding hell, _look at him_! He was snuggling up to her like a bloody kitten! And— good Lord is that what his face looked like? He looked inebriated! And look at _Rose_ …

Oh, look at Rose. She really was beautiful, his pink and yellow companion, and she looked even better wrapped around his back. She had a soft, almost tender expression on her face, almost… almost _loving_. But that was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. 

“Y’know what I’m in the mood for, Doctor?” 

Her words jolted him out of the TARDIS’s image of the two of them, and he opened his eyes, somehow unused to seeing through his own eyes. Her hands had ceased their exploring and he mourned the loss.

“What’s that?” he asked, sitting up a bit since her ministrations stopped. 

“Ice cream.”

He frowned, but didn’t turn around to look at her just in case her face was closer than he anticipated. “Now? It’s morning.” 

“Don’t care. We’re ‘bout a five minute walk from a little place I used to go to all the time; we can get some there.”

He snorted. “21st century ice cream is practically as bad as your mum’s cooking, compared to the ice cream made from honest-to-goodness purple cows that we could get on the 51st century Ruairi colony. Which we could go to, if the TARDIS would _move_ ,” he added sharply, not to Rose.

“It’s good,” Rose insisted, ignoring him. “Also you’re the one who keeps accepting Mum’s experiments, so you can’t very well blame her.”

“If she’d just put in bananas—” he started, before changing the subject. “Hang on, does the shop have bananas?” 

“Yep, if you want it too,” she said, giggling as his face lit up. “Y’know, banana split and all that.” 

“Let’s go then!” the Doctor burst out, slipping his arms underneath her knees and hoisting her piggyback-style onto his back. 

She shrieked and clung to him, laughing as he used the light from his sonic to manoeuvre his way back to the console room and out the doors. They both blinked at the blinding daylight, and Rose had the gall to point out the way to the ice cream shop, saying all the while “Mush”, the nerve of her. Of course, he wasn’t much better considering his fingers kept trailing patterns underneath her knees, marvelling in the softness of her skin.

He refused to put her down until they made it to the Ice Cream Shoppe (as it was so colourfully named) where she burst out in horror that she was still in her jimjams. 

“And these shorts, Doctor!” she fretted, hitting him over the arm, all previous gentleness forgotten. “You couldn’t have waited a bit for me to dress, yeah?”

“Two words, Rose Tyler,” he said. “Banana. Ice cream.”

“That’s three words.” 

“Not on Eris VI, it’s not.”

“Oh _shut it_ ,” she scowled, yanking him into the sweet smelling store. 

“Oooh,” he gawked, prompting a smirk from Rose, who approached the counter. 

“Mornin’ Jamie,” she said to the man behind the counter, in a tone that made the Doctor (who had been fawning over a picture of a banana sitting in a bowl of ice cream, topped with drizzled fudge and frozen cherries) freeze in his tracks. That tone was far too familiar for his taste. 

“This’s gotta be the earliest I’ve ever done seen you here, Rosie,” Jamie said, grinning lasciviously— _lasciviously?_ “And in the weirdest outfit. Those your jimjams?”

“Maybe.” She blushed faintly. “Was in a hurry.”

“Who’s the bloke?”

“That’s the Doctor,” Rose said, in an almost flippant tone. 

“Doctor who?”

“Just the Doctor.”

“Ah.” The boy winked at her. _He bloody winked_. Oh dear, it was going to be a bad day for old Jamie if he did that again. 

Unfortunately Rose didn’t seem to think so. The Doctor literally swelled up with possessive anger as _his_ little companion draped herself over the counter, no longer caring about her modesty in her jimjams, and flirted without question with the stupid little insolent ice cream boy. The nearby TARDIS didn’t seem to like that either, from the images he was channelling her. As if encouraging what the Doctor was already itching to do the TARDIS showed him an image of the night previous, when they’d both been asleep. Oh, how good she looked, snuggling him as they slept. 

_Mine._

And so, swift as the wind, he found himself at her side, channelling an Oncoming Storm glare at stupid Jamie, who visibly cowered. Turning to Rose, who looked confused, he bit out, “Bananas.” 

Rose actually giggled, and he supposed yeah, that probably did sound silly since he was trying to give a warning. “Yeah, yeah, I know. James, could you get this idiot a banana ice cream cone?” 

“No, I want that,” the Doctor insisted, pointing at the advertised banana split. 

Rose followed his finger. “You won’t finish that, it’ll take ages.” 

“Bet you ten quid I can,” he said earnestly. Truth be told the banana thing didn’t really look appetising anymore; he just wanted to spend as much time with Rose in front of that _boy_ , to show just who she belonged to.

“You’re on then.” She grinned at his challenge, tossing a handful of quid at Jamie. Maybe the boy wasn’t all that stupid, the Doctor mused; after all he’d clearly gotten the message and was avoiding looking at _his_ Rose now. “But we’re sharing,” she added. 

He swallowed. Sharing what? The ice cream? The spoon? He imagined sharing a spoon with her, the taste of bananas and ice cream overridden with the taste of Rose Tyler. He’d never do it, of course, but oh he could dream. 

As was likely, Rose got two spoons as Jamie produced the delectable looking banana split topped with cinnamon, cherries and hot fudge. The Doctor’s thoughts flitted to the image of sprinkling all of the above onto a certain naked pink and yellow human. And banana slices too. Mm. 

“Sit down,” she ordered when the Doctor simply stood there, slightly lost in his fantasy. He jerked himself out of it, scolded himself and plopped down as Rose snatched up a cherry and popped it in her mouth. 

“Well then, here goes nothing,” the Doctor said, firmly aware Jamie was watching them. 

With exaggerated motion he took a spoon, rubbed his fingers over the smooth plastic for a moment, carefully scooped up a gob of ice cream and a piece of banana and put it in his mouth, smacking his lips experimentally. 

His eyes went wide. “This is _brilliant_!” 

And it was. Rose hadn’t been kidding about this little shop. And it was _so much better_ with his increased sensitivity; every spoonful landed on his tongue and made his taste buds sing.

“Oi, your bloke hasn’t had ice cream before, Rose?” Jamie said loudly, almost on a sneer. 

“Not from here, no,” Rose said, watching him dig into the treat with a smirk. “Just that posh future nonsense from _purple cows_ ,” she added, in a hushed voice so only the Doctor could hear. He sent her a mock glare and ferociously chomped down on another banana slice.

“Where’s he from then?” 

“Um. Far away,” she said lamely. 

The Doctor was utterly pleased beyond belief, since Rose hadn’t corrected Jamie calling him ‘her bloke’, although maybe that was just because so many people made that mistake and she didn’t bother anymore. He wished it were so, and yet it never would be, but Jamie didn’t have to know that. Scooping up a big spoonful of ice cream (and a piece of banana, because bananas are good) he held out the spoon to her. “Say ahh.” 

She looked shocked, and so did Jamie, but Rose seemed to sense it was a challenge. The seductress she was, she leaned forward grabbed his hand between hers to steady it and wrapped her lips around the spoon. He took that moment to enjoy her soft hands cupped over his, instead of vice versa. Jamie stomped off into the back room to sulk, prompting a smirk from the Doctor… at least until he realised, when Rose pulled back, that her cheeks were pink.

“Tastes like sugar and bananas, with a hint of Doctor,” she grinned, making his jaw drop.

“Hope that’s good,” he stammered. _Stammered!_

“Oh, I dunno, not bad at most,” Rose said teasingly.

He looked offended. “I’ll have you know I taste delicious, _thank you._ ”

She burst out laughing, the kind of carefree and truly happy laughter she used to use back in his old body. Like the time he, Rose, Jack and Mickey were huddled about thick as thieves inside the restaurant, chuckling about Jack’s silly adventures before the last remaining Slitheen turned up. He missed those days, not only of Rose’s contentment but of his old body’s knack for not staring in places he shouldn’t… like he was doing now.

Now, he noted the colour of her lips with a slight chuckle. They were pink, almost red. Rose-coloured lips for Rose. He wondered if it was because of the temperature of the ice cream, or if it was always like that and he was too daft to notice. Or maybe it was because he was too busy noticing everything else.

As it was he couldn’t finish the banana split, not even with Rose’s help; grumbling, he tossed her ten quid, took the rest of the ice cream to go to put in the TARDIS’s freezer and left, but not before glaring at Jamie one more time.

“Wanna head over to Mum’s?” Rose suggested as they strolled back to the TARDIS, linked arm in arm. 

“No, not really,” the Doctor said cheerfully, earning himself a frown from Rose.

“S’rude to be stranded in Powell Estate without letting my mum know, Mr. Rude-and-not-ginger,” she said, swatting him. “Besides, she’ll find out eventually, and then you’ll be in trouble. You think being hit with a spoon is bad, just wait. Besides, I have laundry I want to drop off.” 

“ _Weeell_ , I s’pose we could,” he said, wanting to make her happy again. “You know the TARDIS has got a laundry room?”

“Yeah I know— all the shit I get on my clothes when we go on adventures, I’d have to see Mum four times a week,” Rose commented, graciously allowing him to hold the TARDIS door open for her. “Makes her feel useful, yeah?” 

The Doctor shrugged and watched her bounce off to change out of her jimjams, the box holding the half-eaten and most likely melted banana split tucked under his arms. He trailed his fingers over the rough edges of the box, set it down on the console and asked the TARDIS to put it in the freezer, since she wouldn’t do anything else. Obediently the box disappeared, and he was on the verge of telepathically thanking her when she interrupted him with another mental image. Lovely, what is it this time? 

He froze. 

This time it was Rose. Again. Except now she was languidly stripping off her jimjams. The Doctor stupidly squeezed his eyes shut, which was fruitless against a mental image. He started to panic— no, no, _no_ , stupid time ship, why did she have to do this to him? He desperately tried with all his telepathic might to block out the image, but the TARDIS forced it on him to the point where his head started to hurt, and he ceased. 

It was almost like she knew he was watching (against his will), like she was putting on a show. Almost too slowly to bear, she hooked her thumbs inside the turn up of her shorts and shimmied them down her legs. The Doctor pressed himself against the wall, digging his nails into his palms as she stepped out of her shorts. _Rassilon_ , her knickers were little more than lacy scraps held together by strings! He pleaded with the TARDIS to stop ( _oh please stop_ ) but being the merciless sentient time ship she was, she ignored him, and he was forced to watch Rose grip the end of her top and pull it over her head. 

Oh… she’s… _oh_ …

She’s _beautiful_ , he found himself thinking, now fully gaping at the image. He’d been barking to assume she’d worn a bra with her jimjams—and yes, he’d thought about it—but she didn’t, and now he could see _all of her_. Two beautiful round, pink globes, dusty nipples in the centres, begging to be played with. He flexed his fingers dreamily, wondering just how impossibly soft they’d be, imagining all the lovely sounds he could elicit from her just by running his hands over them… 

Oh sod it, now she was taking off that ridiculous excuse for knickers. He panicked again, trying to block the image out a second time. If he saw anything more he’d probably pounce on her the next time she strolled into the console room. 

Fuming, the Doctor clenched his fists and started mentally screaming at the TARDIS, who actually flinched back at his temper. He shouted about her prodding around his mind, forcing mental slanderous images of his innocent little companion, and was she _trying_ to drive him barking? What was this accomplishing, really? There was _no way_ he was going to poison Rose like the TARDIS so obviously wanted him to, because he was a monster and—

The TARDIS interrupted his rant with the same loud screech as before, like nails on a chalkboard. He put his face in his hands, sighing with relief now that he was no longer bombarded with the equivalent of Earth pornography starring Rose Tyler, and enjoying the feeling of his own skin against his fingertips. The TARDIS was just going to have to accept that he’d never touch her.

No matter how much he loved her. 

She re-emerged a few minutes of torturous silence later, clad in thin jeans that hugged her legs and a bright pink jumper, with a transdimentional bag of laundry on her arm. “You alright? You look like you just ate a lemon.” 

He felt himself blush from his toes to his ears— he’d seen this girl nearly naked. He was a peeping tom. “Ehm. No lemon.” 

Rose smirked, linking her arm in his. “Can’t think of anything witty, Doctor?”

“I’ll have you know I’m _very_ witty,” he sniffed, pulling his act together. He sent the TARDIS one last glare before he strolled into the Powell Estates hand in hand with Rose.

*

They arrived at Jackie’s with Rose’s laundry, thrilling Jackie as she ‘never saw her daughter as often anymore thanks to that bloody alien’, which prompted the Prentice woman to cook them all a giant breakfast of bacon, eggs, tea, toast and kippers, each of which he prodded with his fingers before eating. The Doctor planned to stay at most an hour with the godforsaken woman (the things he put up with for Rose Tyler, honestly…) and hurry back to the TARDIS so that he could negotiate an equilibrium regarding travel. Because if he spent another second stranded on Earth, in the dark, with Jackie shouting that he needed a haircut, he’d go mad. 

As it turned out they spent the day, either flitting around London shopping or staying in Jackie’s flat playing poker (turns out he’s got an awful poker face), trying more of Jackie’s experiments (‘worse than the excrements of the Mighty Jagrafess’ didn’t even cut it this time) and chatting about their adventures (proudly telling Jackie they were both knighted by Queen Victoria, leaving out the part where the Queen then banished them forever). 

Now, though, the Doctor and Rose were sprawled over the couch together like old times, his arm around her shoulders and her snuggling into his chest while he flicked through channels on the telly. The Doctor absently trailed his fingers over the rough textured fabric of the chesterfield, at the same time twirling a lock of Rose’s soft hair between his thumb and forefinger. Each sensation shot through his fingers and up his wrists.

“Oooh,” they chorused, when the channel they found started playing a familiar theme song.

“ _House_ ,” said the Doctor eagerly, sitting up a bit straighter. “That Hugh Laurie bloke’s brilliant.”

“Yeah,” said Rose. “Y’know, he’s a Brit.” 

“No,” the Doctor gasped, gawking as Hugh Laurie a.k.a. Gregory House limped onto the stage arguing with humorous ease in a fluent American accent. “I’d never guess.”

“He’s not bad looking,” Rose observed, not noticing him scowl down at her. 

“Isn’t he in his forties?” the Doctor reminded her. 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything.” Rose shrugged. “Still looks good. ‘Sides, you are _much_ older.” 

He gaped. Did that mean Rose found _him_ good looking for his age?

“He’s a proper doctor, that one. Actually uses medicine, he does.” 

“ _I_ use medicine,” the Doctor grumbled. “Sometimes. I’m a _way_ better doctor than that Hugh Laurie, in any case. He isn’t even a real doctor! His character’s a doctor.”

“Weeell,” Rose said, imitating his drawl. “Yeah, I s’pose,” she concluded, grinning when he straightened, looking smug. “Pretty sure Hugh Laurie doesn’t have a time machine.”

“Or a pink and yellow companion,” the Doctor said happily, faltering a bit when Rose blushed.

The Doctor could feel the TARDIS trying to get his attention again. She’d been silent up until now, probably upset with him. He harrumphed and demanded what it was she wanted, reminding her that he was still bloody pissed at her. The TARDIS seemed guilty about shoving images of Rose getting undressed into his mind, and started to show him Rose getting out of the TARDIS in beams of fiery light, her eyes glowing golden orbs. She channelled emotions with her— kindness and a hint of sadness as well. The Doctor’s face fell, but he kept his eyes on the telly. Why was she showing him this? Surely she knew how much he hated thinking about that day, when he’d had to send Rose away and that _stupid_ girl had nearly gotten herself killed, running straight into a Dalek battle with her head full of the bloody Vortex…

He saw his daft old face again, staring up at her with demented panic, and a hint of awe and admiration, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she missed the old him. The memory continued, still in the point of view of the TARDIS, and the Doctor watched as the old him cupped the side of her tear-streaked face with one hand and captured her lips, drawing the Vortex out of her. He remembered what that felt like, kissing Rose and dying at the same time. It’d been… wonderful. The kissing part, not the dying part. He chanced a glance at Rose, whose eyes were locked on the telly. He wished he could kiss her again. What would she do if he simply swooped down now and—?

“What’s this, then?” Jackie’s voice rang through his thoughts. 

“S’that _House_ show the Doctor loves,” Rose replied. “The American one.”

“Ooh,” said Jackie from behind them. “The one with that Hugh Laurie bloke? He’s not bad looking, that one.”

“Told ya,” Rose snickered when the Doctor scowled. 

“Oh stuff it,” Jackie told him, patting him on the shoulder. “ _You_ aren’t bad looking either, sweetheart.” 

“Told ya again!” Rose was laughing now, and he grinned too. 

“Better than when you was all big ears and leather, anyhoo,” Jackie added.

“I dunno; I liked you a lot like that,” Rose said thoughtfully, and his jaw dropped to the floor. Her attention turned back to the telly. “Ooh, looks like Stacy's putting the moves on House!”

Jackie also ‘ooh-ed’, finally emerging into the living space from the kitchen, holding a towel and a frying pan. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of her daughter draped over him, and he felt himself blush. “This something you two do often, then?” 

“Err…” 

“Yeah, we watch it all the time in the TARDIS,” Rose said, oblivious to what Jackie actually meant. “Get every channel there.” 

Jackie scoffed, shot the Doctor a warning look and flounced back into the kitchen, muttering, “Look and act like a bloody couple, but no, he’s got commitment issues…”

 _Commitment issues?!_ What the bloody hell did that mean? At his furious thought the TARDIS sent him the equivalent of a shrug and a look that said ‘well, you do.’ 

He most certainly did _not_. He’d be more than happy to _commit_ to somebody, if somebody came round… The Doctor glanced back at Rose, imagining _committing_ himself forever to this lovely little human. It… sounded lovely. She looked up at him and blushed. 

“Why are you looking at me with a silly grin?” she mumbled, fidgeting a bit.

“I was?” he said, still grinning. “Oops.”

She bit her lip and looked away, starting to fidget with her earring. It shocked him when he remarked just how often she did that. Turns out it was becoming normal for him to notice tiny things like that. 

“Fancy a cuppa?” the Doctor said, uncurling himself from her and bouncing up.

“Yeah alright, thanks,” Rose replied, still fiddling with her earring as he grabbed their empty mugs and joined Jackie in the kitchen. 

The blonde woman, who had her hands stuck in a sink full of dishes, looked up and grimaced at him. “Good, it’s you then. Want a chat, I do.” 

“Err, what for?” the Doctor asked, fidgeting as he bustled around to make Rose another cuppa. 

“We’ve all seen the way you look at my daughter. And don’t you go denying either, you,” Jackie added firmly, waving around a soapy wooden spoon when the Doctor opened his mouth to do just that. “Look like a puppy trying not to wag its tail. What was it that Mickey said the other day ‘bout you two? Oh right, that you looked ‘obnoxiously in love with each other’.” 

The Doctor went beet red and swore to have a nice chat with Mickey the Idiot next time he came blathering around. The TARDIS seemed to be enjoying Jackie’s interrogation, humming happily in the back of his mind. The kettle clicked off, and the Doctor busied himself with making him and Rose two cups of tea, still red in the face, absently stroking the cool handle of the mugs with his thumbs.

“…‘course, Rose is in total denial,” Jackie continued, oblivious to his discomfort. “Keeps going on about how you don’t do that. Hang on, _can_ you do that?”

“Erm, do what?” 

“Love, of course!” 

The Doctor scowled at her. “I most certainly can, thank you.”

“Oh, well you ought to tell Rose that then,” Jackie sniffed, making his jaw drop. 

“ _What_?!”

“Well you _should_ ,” she said, looking at him as if he were mad. “We keep telling her and she keeps insisting you can’t love, and if you could you wouldn’t love her.”

The Doctor was halfway to shooting an Oncoming Storm glare at Jackie when he suddenly froze, a cold sweat sweeping over him. “Hang on, what?”

Jackie nodded enthusiastically as she turned back to the dishes. “I know, right? Keeps saying she’s ‘just some human’.”

Jackie kept prattling on while the Doctor’s face fell into shocked abhorrence. Good Rassilon, is that how he made her feel? Like just ‘some human’? A wave of guilt swept over him. He already endangered her life daily, and now he made her feel inadequate? But she was so brilliant, so clever and lovely and pink and yellow! 

“— and it’s almost disgustingly obvious how in love she is with you,” Jackie said, breaking through his guilt trip. “Bloody besotted, she is.”

“She isn’t,” he murmured, because it was true. She was a wonderful little human and he was just a dirty old man with his mind always in the gutter when it came to her. 

“What’re you talking about? Of course she is!” 

“No, she isn’t,” he said firmly, finally giving her that Oncoming Storm glare to shut her up as he plopped tea bags into each cup and poured in steaming water.

It didn’t work; she glared right back, placing one soapy hand on her hip. “You are the daftest alien I’ve ever known. Well, you’re the only alien I’ve ever known, but you’re still the daftest. You’ve got her wrapped ‘round your finger, and vice versa. S’no wonder you’re always snuggling on the chesterfield, thick as thieves.”

He glared at her further, grabbed the tea mugs and stormed out of the kitchen, considerably upset. Nobody got on his nerves more than that Jacqueline Andrea Suzette bloody Tyler. Honestly, who does she think she is? His angry steps faltered as Rose came into view, stretched out like a cat over the sofa. Well, Jackie was right about one thing— he was utterly smitten with her only daughter. Unfortunately he’d assumed he’d been doing a good job hiding it, and now knew that was bollocks. And Rose actually thought she was just ‘some human’ to him. That was something he had to correct in the future. 

“Thanks,” said Rose as he handed her the steaming mug. The Doctor slid back onto his place on the couch, throwing one arm back around her shoulders and pressing her to him more urgently than necessary. “You missed it; it was bloody brilliant. Stacy snogged House when they were in Baltimore”

“About blooming time,” he snorted. “Kept making googly eyes at each other the whole bloody time. It was getting annoying.” 

Jackie snorted from the other room, and he heard her mutter, “Take your own bloody advice, stupid alien.”

They sat in warm, snuggly silence as the first programme ended and a second began. It wasn’t until Jackie came out of the kitchen some couple of hours and four programmes later and noted, “Honestly, you’re wearin’ the poor girl out,” that he realised Rose was asleep. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her. She stayed awake during all of _House_ and a couple of old sitcoms, but fell asleep during a horror film complete with chainsaws and avid screaming. 

“I’ll bring her back to the TARDIS, then,” he said, shutting off the telly and scooping her up bridal style. “She woke up too early this morning.” 

“You think about what I said, yeah?” Jackie said in a warning tone. “You ought to bloody confess to her, since she’s not gonna do it. And if you break her heart, I’ll skin you alive and use you as a rug.” 

“I’m sure you will,” the Doctor scowled. He told the woman they’d be back in the morning to pick up her laundry and stepped out of the flat into the night street. 

The Doctor bit his lip as he hurried through the chilly streets, hyperaware that Rose’s parted mouth was pressed against his neck. He shivered, not from the cool night air but from Rose shifting a bit, and quickened his pace. His fingers kept stroking her bare skin, the nape of her neck, a lock of her hair and even the fabric of her jumper. Her sweet Rose Tyler scent was wafting in his face, making him feel pleasantly sleepy. 

The TARDIS opened the door for him, as his hands were rather busy; he mentally snarked at her, saying it was about blooming time she started working. She happily sent him the equivalent of a middle finger before turning on the lights so he could see to put Rose to bed. He moodily thanked her before hurrying into Rose’s room, stepping toward the unmade pink bed and setting her down gently so as not to wake her. She licked her lips, before stretching on the bed. The Doctor laughed humourlessly— it seemed like Jackie, the TARDIS _and_ Rose were torturing him. 

He slipped the horrid pink covers over her figure, taking a moment to sit down on the edge of her bed and simply look at her. How could she honestly think she was nothing more that just some human to him? If only she knew just how special she was to him… but she’d never know, because he’d never tell her. Unconsciously he reached out with one hand and brushed it lightly over the apple of her cheek. ‘Some human’, _ha_. If only she was just some human… it’d spare him all this jealousy and rage and pain. He debated leaning down to kiss her, but decided against it, instead getting up and leaving her be, trailing his fingers over the fabric of her quilt. The Doctor felt physically drained, most likely from having to stay put (adventure withdrawal, he bitterly remarked in his head) and decided to try and sleep again. It’d been decades since he’d slept two nights in a row, but he had nothing better to do through the night and wanted tomorrow to come as quickly as possible.

*

Something startled Rose out of her warm slumber. She sighed and stretched, blinking in the darkness. Where was she? Oh, back in the TARDIS. The Doctor must have carried her. He’d done so on several occasions, and on more than one she’d feigned being asleep just to enjoy being in his hold. 

A loud shout echoing through the corridor outside her door made her heart skip a beat. Fear flooded through her. Was… that the Doctor? It hit her— he was having a nightmare! The TARDIS turned the lights on, sensing her alarm. Rose didn’t have time to contemplate why the TARDIS was working when she threw the covers off, heart pounding in her throat as she jogged down the corridor to the Doctor’s bedroom. She’d never been in there before, not even when she’d heard him fret in his sleep in days past, but ever since the TARDIS powered down she felt closer to her Doctor than ever. Besides, she wanted him to know he could find comfort in her. 

His door was ajar, and the lights were dim inside, enough to see him but not enough to wake him. His sheets were lying in a torn heap at the base of his bed, his back was arched up and his arms flung wildly as he clawed at whatever was attacking him in his dream. He wore a pair of light blue pyjama pants, the ends of which were twisted around his ankles from his thrashing.

“Doctor!” Rose gasped out, hurrying towards his side. 

She caught both of his flailing arms and pinned them to the bed with one hand to stop him from hitting her. Her other hand slid onto his face, holding his head up. At her touch his eyes flew open, pupils small as specks. Panting he blinked and regarded her for the briefest moment before breathing out, almost surprised, “Rose… you’re alive.” 

_That’s_ what he’d been dreaming about? Her dying, or something like it? She felt herself blush despite the circumstances, and she gripped his hands tighter to prove her presence. “Yeah, Doctor. I’m alright, don’t worry.” 

The Doctor mumbled something, most likely a curse, and his arms slipped out of her grasp and around her neck to pull her into a trembling hug. She embraced him back with fervour, hoping the reason he was shaking was from relief and not because he’d started to weep. Rose ran her fingers through his hair again, as she had last night, making another shiver shoot through him unrelated to his nightmare. His head drooped onto her shoulder, closing his eyes as his breathing evened out. It took a few moments for her to realise he’d fallen asleep sitting up. 

She giggled softly— only the Doctor could do that. It was… kind of adorable. Her adorable little alien. She carefully leaned him back until he was resting on the bed again, and she whispered under her breath for the TARDIS to please get him a new sheet. Rose gathered up the shredded remains of his old bedclothes and left, tossing them in the trash, and decided she’d make herself an early morning cuppa. She wasn’t tired anymore; her worry for the Doctor had erased all sleepiness. 

Rose padded her way down the hall, which lit itself for her, and into the kitchen. The kettle was already starting to heat up, and a mug with a teabag inside was out for her. Rose frowned at it, picking it up. Usually the TARDIS brought out her favourite pink flowery mug, but this one was dark blue— this was the Doctor’s favourite. She blushed, envisioning herself drinking from his cup thrilling her for some reason. 

“Thank you,” she murmured to the ship, patting its walls. 

As soon as her fingers touched the cool wall an image erupted before her eyes. She gasped and yanked her hand away before she could register what the picture was. Had… had the TARDIS just sent her that picture telepathically? How could it, though? She wasn’t a telepath! Rose hesitated before pressing her hand against the wall again. The image burst into her mind again— it was of herself, staring straight into a bright golden light coming from the heart of the TARDIS. 

“Oh, so that’s why you can send me images, then?” Rose whispered, and the TARDIS sent her the telepathic equivalent of a nod. “But… the Doctor said he got rid of the Vortex.” The same image firmly appeared again, and golden light was streaming from her eyes. “There’s still a bit of the Vortex inside me, I s’pose?” Another nod. “Alright.” She smiled as the TARDIS channelled an emotion to her: affection. “So, then, TARDIS, why did you decide not to work?” 

Rose gasped when the TARDIS sent her a stream of rapid images: her and the Doctor in the console room by candlelight, his mouth pressed against her hand; the two of them snuggling in the common room watching _House_ with equally silly grins; him cooking her breakfast while she hugged him from behind; him asleep between her legs as she ran her fingers through his hair—

The kettle whistled, startling her. Rose ripped her hand off the wall, heart pounding in her ears, and she hurried over to the kettle and took it off the burner so as not to wake the Doctor. Abandoning the kettle when it stopped being noisy, she pressed her hand back against the wall.

“Okay, yeah, I’m in love with him,” she muttered to the TARDIS, who practically squealed as though the time ship were nobody more than her romance-loving mate, Shareen. “What does that have to do with you going all haunted house?” 

She saw herself and the Doctor in the candlelight again, him tinkering with the TARDIS and kissing her hand, her staring at him deep in thought. Rose grimaced— God she looked besotted. 

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Rose insisted, but the TARDIS just kept showing her the same picture. “Alright, I give up.”

She started to turn away, but before her hand left the wall an unfamiliar scene bombarded her mind. It was hazy as though she was standing in a fog, but she could barely make out the Doctor. He was running after somebody, shouting incoherently in an odd, echoing voice. Hang on… it was _her_ he was running after! Rose was shocked as she watched herself sprint straight into an army of Daleks, who shouted together, “ _Exterminate_!” before turning their guns on her and shooting. 

Rose saw herself scream, her skeleton lighting up for the world to see before she dropped to the ground. The Doctor was screaming, one loud, long scream of, “ _Nooo_!” 

Unable to see any more she pulled her hand away again, holding it close to her chest. “Is this what the Doctor was dreaming of?” Rose gasped, and the TARDIS ‘nodded’. 

She dared to hope now, after seeing this, that she wasn’t just some human to the Doctor, as she’d always previously insisted. Then she sighed— she was being ridiculous. Rose was sure other companions had died before her, and most likely the Doctor would mourn her the same way before quickly moving on. 

“Ouch!” Rose exclaimed when the TARDIS sent her a screeching noise at her own thought. “That wasn’t nice, was it?” 

Frowning, Rose left the hot kettle and the mug untouched, storming back to bed. The TARDIS was just going to have to accept that, no matter what the Doctor dreamed, it was _just_ a dream. Rose had already accepted long ago that he didn’t care for her that way and never would.

No matter how much she loved him.

*

The Doctor woke up again late in the morning, his bed sporting brand new sheets that he ran his hands over, the smooth fabric tickling his nerves. At first he frowned— where did his old sheets go? Oh, right, he ripped them to pieces. 

Oh bollocks, _Rose_. He’d had another nightmare, and she’d shown up, and he’d… The Doctor hoped he hadn’t frightened her. He was _so stupid_ , flipping about and shouting. He had a bottle of pills he’d picked up at the hospital in New New York for his nightmares. They worked by suppressing negative thought and memory, so whatever he dreamed would be good, no matter what. Unfortunately he had to take one every day, and they’d make him sleepy. He’d just have to sleep nightly, like a human. 

“Is that what you think?” he heard Rose mutter down the hall. “You’re wrong, you know.” 

Who was she talking to? The Doctor frowned, hoping she hadn’t invited Mickey the Idiot into _his_ time ship, or Jamie or worse, her _mother_. He dressed quickly, trying not to linger on touching most of his clothes, and strolled out, hiding his embarrassment from the night before behind a mask of joviality. 

“Mornin’, Rose Tyler,” he said, entering the kitchen. The smell of toast was in the air, and nobody was in the kitchen but Rose, who was smiling at him. “Who’re you talking to?”

“The TARDIS,” Rose said, shoving a stack of buttered toast on a napkin into his hand. “Eat. You look peckish.”

“What d’you mean, the TARDIS?” he asked confusedly, feeling the papery napkin with his thumb and index finger. 

“I dunno, s’like there’s residue from the Vortex in my head, so I can hear her, yeah?” She plucked a spoon from the drawer and dipped it into her mug, stirring thoughtfully. “She’s awake now, by the way. Won’t properly tell me why she’s been all dark on us up until now. Keeps showing me pictures of us in the console room with the candles.” 

The Doctor hid his blush behind the toast he took a bite out of. Mentally he inquired to the TARDIS as to when she decided to start talking to Rose, but the TARDIS sent him the correspondent of sticking out her tongue. _Real mature_ , he thought. 

“The TARDIS still won’t travel, though. Keep asking why, but she ignores me. So I was thinking we ring Mickey, yeah?” Rose nibbled on her own piece of toast. “Haven’t seen him for a bit, since Sarah Jane. Ooh, and we ought to ring her too!” 

“I thought you didn’t like Sarah,” the Doctor said, remembering how the two had snarked at each other. 

“Of course I do, she’s brilliant.” Rose stared at him as if what he said had been the epitome of ridiculousness. “Tells me funny stories about you when you were younger,” she added, grinning. “Is it true you used to wear a cape?” 

“Oi, that was a long time ago!” he said hotly, and she laughed.

“Wish there were pictures.” Rose giggled. “Although _I_ have quite the collection. Still have that one of the old you and Jack having a row over your jacket.” 

“He didn’t appreciate leather,” the Doctor sniffed, biting into his toast with vigour. “Who doesn’t like leather? Evil people, that’s who.” 

They joked over breakfast for another half hour before he left Rose to call Sarah Jane and Mickey the Idiot, and he used that time to pop back one of those anti-nightmare pills. Hopefully this would stop him from dreaming about Daleks and dead Roses. 

*

Rose and the Doctor met up with Mickey and Sarah Jane at a cross section. The Doctor and Mickey stared as the two women squealed at the sight of each other, exchanged tight hugs and giggling like children about him. Eventually Rose left with Mickey while the Doctor and Sarah Jane strolled through the park together. 

“I noticed the new you likes to touch things,” Sarah Jane said, looking at him pointedly when he accidentally-on-purpose brushed his fingers over the end of her coat for the umpteenth time. 

“Oversensitive new body,” he said. “I like tasting things too. S’pose that’s why I let Rose’s mum force feed me the rubbish she calls ‘food’.”

“Speaking of, how are things with Rose?” Sarah Jane smiled at him. “You both seem happy.” 

“Weeell, the TARDIS is refusing to travel,” he said, choosing to ignore the last half of her words. “And yesterday she kept all the lights off. Even hid all the torches, and made us use candles.” 

“That doesn’t sound like her. Is something the matter?” 

“Oh yes, she’s in over her head,” the Doctor said hotly, scowling in front of him. “Making us grope round in the dark, setting the so-called _mood_ with those bloody candles and forcing Rose and I to—” He snapped his mouth shut. 

Sarah Jane actually grinned. “To… what, Doctor? Go on, tell me.” 

“Erm… well, to stay… close.” 

The investigative reporter and former companion stopped walking, pursing her lips as she processed this information. Her eyes lit up. “The TARDIS is a bloody genius!” 

“ _What?_ ” he cried. “Why are you siding with _her?_ ”

“You love her,” Sarah Jane said. “Rose! You’re in love with Rose! And don’t you try and deny it,” she added when he opened his mouth. “No use lying to me. It’d be like lying to your sonic. So then, am I right?”

He wrung his hands, adjusted his tie, slipped them through his hair and then shoved them in his pockets, all the while Sarah Jane watched him fidget amusedly. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, not looking at her. 

And it was true. He felt his love for her growing day by day, and it felt so natural, almost like a sixth sense, blooming in sensitivity like his other five senses. 

Sarah Jane squeezed his arm. “She loves you too.”

“No, she doesn’t,” he mumbled, kicking at a leaf on the path. 

“Even after everything that’s happened, you’re still the same daft alien I know,” Sarah Jane sighed, pinching his arm. 

“Ow! What was that for?” 

“For being stupid. So, the TARDIS turns off the lights so you’ll be forced to feel around for each other. But now she’s working?”

“Yeah, ‘cept she won’t travel. Been stuck here a good four days; I’m going barking. And now,” he added with a loud harrumph, “now the bloody TARDIS has decided she’s going to be mind-mates with Rose.”

“Rose isn’t telepathic,” Sarah Jane said, frowning. 

“Weeell, no. See, the Daleks were going to exterminate the Earth, yeah? So I sent Rose back in the TARDIS, and the _stupid girl_ came running back and looked into the heart of the TARDIS—”

“ _What?_ ” 

“— so she killed all the Daleks, raised Jack Harkness from the dead, saved the world and all that. I ki— erm, I mean, I absorbed the Vortex.” He bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. “So the old me died, and this wonderful handsome man was born!” He gestured to himself with a pleased expression. 

“Hang on, rewind,” she said, brows furrowing. “How did you absorb the Vortex?”

The Doctor scowled at his intuitive friend. “I… erm… I kissed her.” He went red. 

Sarah Jane didn’t tease him, instead she looked thoughtful. “Rose doesn’t remember that, does she?” The Doctor ducked his head and shook it. Sarah Jane patted his arm comfortingly. “So, what, there’s residue of the Vortex in her mind connecting her to the TARDIS?” 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” The Doctor’s frown deepened. “The residue left over from the Vortex was inert, and should have stayed that way… except, well… the TARDIS reanimated it.”

“Why?” 

“The TARDIS… chose her.” 

There was silence between the two as the Doctor pretended to be interested in a cloud and Sarah Jane tried to figure out what he’d just told her. “I don’t understand. Please explain.” 

He harrumphed again and ran his fingers through his hair one more time. “The TARDIS has… accepted her. As my… companion.” 

Sarah Jane’s brows shot upward when she finally deciphered the meaning. “The TARDIS has accepted her as your lover, hasn’t she? That’s why she formed a telepathic bond with Rose.” She smiled. “Doctor, it seems that the only one holding back from all of this is you. You keep assuming Rose doesn’t love you, but have you ever seen anything that suggests otherwise?” 

“Err…”

“And have you ever _asked_ her?”

“Ehm…” 

Sarah Jane sighed. “Doctor, when will you learn?” 

“I dunno, Sarah,” the Doctor said softly. “Rose is always affectionate. But it’s not just with me, it’s with _everyone_. Granted, her mum’s always layin’ snogs on whoever’ll take ‘em…”

“That’s probably why,” Sarah Jane said. “Think, though, Doctor. Is there one thing Rose does with everyone else but not with you?”

“Kisses,” he said immediately. 

“Exactly!” his former companion exclaimed. “Rose doesn’t think twice about doing it with someone else because she doesn’t care about them, nor about how they’ll react! She _cares_ about what you’d do because she _cares about you_. Your opinion matters a great deal to her.” 

He frowned at the ground— so humans used kisses as a way of expressing care, but because Rose kissed everybody _but_ him, that meant she _didn’t_ care about who she gave kisses to? His head was spinning with all the contradictions. “All of this is driving me mad,” he scowled, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“But, if all of this is so bothersome to you, how come you’ve never looked this happy? Not even with me?” 

He stayed silent for a brief moment, staring at his plimsolls. “It’s… I dunno, Sarah, it’s just… her. It’s bloody odd, I’ll be angry and she’ll show up and I’m just… not angry anymore. Or she’ll smile, and that makes me smile even though there’s _nothing_ to smile about— Oi, what’re you sighing at?” he fumed, when Sarah Jane did just that. 

“My silly old friend, in love,” she breathed, fanning herself. “Never thought I’d see the day!” 

They spent another minute of silence, in which the Doctor wished he hadn’t told Sarah this, and the latter beamed at nothing in particular. 

“I had a nightmare last night, Sarah,” he said quietly. “Rose… died in it.” 

Sarah Jane patted his arm yet again. “Did she hear you?”

“Yeah. Reckon I frightened her.” 

“I doubt that. Rose is stronger than you give her credit for.”

“Yeah.” His expression went affectionately soft, something that shocked Sarah Jane to her core— her old Doctor making a face like that! “I know.” More silence. “I have… other dreams about Rose.”

Neither of them knew why the Doctor, known for keeping even the simplest of things to himself, was suddenly spilling his hearts out to the investigative reporter. Sarah Jane seized the moment greedily, knowing it would never in her lifetime come again. “Like what?”

“Nice ones,” the Doctor said, smiling a bit. His smile dropped off immediately. “And the kinds that would get me executed on Gallifrey if anyone was left to know.” 

Sarah Jane couldn’t help her reaction; she went red. The _Doctor_ , having wet dreams about Rose Tyler! She composed herself, hoping she hadn’t frightened him into silence. “That does come with love, Doctor. Human love, anyway. Begging pardon, can’t speak for Gallifreyans of course.”

“S’pose that’s why I love humans,” he continued, as if not hearing her. “So much passion. You humans explore that aspect, don’t you? Born explorers, you lot are. And I don’t just mean exploring space.” He sighed. 

Sarah Jane watched as his face flickered with a storm of emotions. “Doctor… you spend your life ignoring rules, yeah?” He grinned a bit sadly and nodded. “Then why now, only in this… er, _subject_ … do you abide by Gallifreyan ‘rules’?”

He shrugged. “Was brought up like that, I s’pose.” 

“Rose was also brought up in a life where aliens were just on the telly and in books, but you don’t see her running from you or where you take her, do you? Don’t argue,” she added waspishly, when he looked like he was going to do just that. “From what she’s told me, she dropped everything and ran _to_ you upon discovering aliens exist. Maybe you could try, Doctor, and explore that part of yourself too.”

“No,” he snapped, looking livid. “I won’t poison her like that just because I’m an old bloody _pervert_.” He brightened. “Got some of those pills in New New York, though, the ones that suppress negative emotions and memories, yeah? So it won’t be happening again.” 

Sarah Jane bit her lip and was about to speak when the subject of their whole conversation came into view farther down the path and started running towards them, a bright grin on her face and eyes twinkling. Sarah Jane watched as her old friend’s face lit up as though hit with a ray of sunlight, and just as he’d described earlier his lips stretched into a wide grin, emulating Rose’s. The investigative reporter hugged herself a little and beamed at them, a panting Mickey holding a box of chips in the background going completely unnoticed. 

*

The group stayed together, conversing over chips until the sunset. Sarah Jane bid them all farewell and Mickey (to the Doctor’s immense annoyance) pecked Rose on the lips before heading back to his flat as well. Now the Doctor and Rose were in the common room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch in front of the telly. She was tossing leftover chips at the Doctor, who kept expertly catching them in his mouth. 

“How d’you do that?” Rose asked, grinning as she threw another chip and he had to lean to the right to catch it, nearly toppling off the couch. 

“Do what?” he said as he chewed, enjoying the soft texture of potato on his tongue. 

“Catch them in your mouth every time. S’like, you’ve got fantastic reflexes. Or the TARDIS is manipulating the gravity in here.” Rose paused and frowned at the ceiling. “Are you doing that?” The Doctor bit his lip as she smiled. “Good.” 

He was so preoccupied trying not to look bothered by her conversing casually with his ship he didn’t notice Rose had tossed him another chip until it hit him square in the forehead. She burst out laughing as he wiped bits of chip off of his face, grumbling. 

“Well, I’m gonna head off,” Rose said, wiping her eyes and getting off the couch. “‘Night, Doctor.” 

His two hearts leapt a beat each as Rose bent down to give him a tight hug, which he reciprocated enthusiastically. Perhaps it was just because of his conversation with Sarah Jane, but he could have sworn she brushed her fingers over the base of his neck before pulling away. The Doctor mentally asked the TARDIS to put away the chips before sighing and rubbing his eyes. He was tired too, but didn’t want to sleep, despite knowing he wouldn’t have any nightmares. It was only when he caught himself nodding off on the couch who knows how many minutes later that he finally headed off to bed.

*

 _He finally had her. And he was bloody thrilled about it._

_She was fully naked—he’d ensured it, to fully appreciate just how utterly radiant she was—and was perched atop the TARDIS console. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, hands in his hair, and he was between her legs, pushing into her with gentle, languid strokes. Rose sighed with each soft thrust, pleasing him in a way he’d never be able to describe. Her hips moved with him, and little by little he increased his pace, making her moans louder and louder. Her walls clenched around him, and he let out a groan—_

*

A loud groan startled Rose out of her brief sleep. She sat up with a jolt, breathing heavily with panic. A second groan soon followed. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. He was having another nightmare. Poor Doctor. It was strange, though; usually he only slept once every two weeks, but this was the third night in a row he’d gone to sleep. Maybe it had something to do with the lack of adventure, or the TARDIS not working properly. 

Rose shoved the covers off again, shivering when her bare feet touched the cold floor. The TARDIS lit her way to his bedroom again, and she jogged towards it quickly and stationed herself at his door.

“Doctor,” Rose whispered when the groaning stopped. 

He didn’t answer; there was only the sound of frantically moving bedclothes. She entered quietly, biting her lip. She said his name again, and he whimpered again in reply.

*

_—She said his name as if it were a prayer, over and over like a broken record. The Doctor groaned into her neck and bit down on the skin of her shoulder, tasting pure Rose Tyler on his tongue—_

*

The room lit up ever so slightly. Rose could now see him, clad only in night pants, the TARDIS blue sheets twisted around his body like a rope. His eyebrows were arched up as if in pain. She shushed him gently, sliding one hand onto his chest and a knee onto the bed, trying to wake him. 

*

 _—One of Rose’s hands slipped down his shoulders and trailed over his chest, the other sliding over his cheek. He was_ so bloody close—

*

Rose placed her palm over his sweaty face, cupping his cheeks. She brushed his hair out of his face and squeezed his shoulder, whispering, “Doctor, wake up.”

He woke with a loud gasp, both hearts pounding and fists clenching. The Doctor blinked away the haze of sleep from his eyes, adjusting to the light. Rose’s face _was_ next to his, and her hands _were_ pressed against his chest and his face. But she wasn’t naked, nor was he, and they were in his bedroom. Again. _Oh dear Rassilon Rose Tyler was in his bedroom again._

“Wh—?” he started to stammer. 

“You were having another nightmare,” Rose said, running her thumb over the skin of his cheek.

The Doctor untangled himself from the sheets and sat up, trying not to frown. It had been a dream. _Again_. Of course it had. He took her hands in his own, willing himself not to kiss them. He remarked bitterly how the stupid pills hadn’t worked, before he realised they _had_. As much as he didn’t want to dream of fucking Rose, it wasn’t negative, so it wasn’t repressed. And—sod it—he was hard. And Rose was in the room. He wished she’d leave before he did something regrettable.

“Sounded intense,” Rose murmured, squeezing his hand and scooting closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “D’you want to tell me what it was?” 

“You.” The word tumbled from his lips before he could stop it, and he was grateful for the dim lighting as Rose couldn’t see his pink cheeks. 

“Like last night?” He looked at her and she blushed, ducking her head. “Sorry, s’just… the TARDIS showed me your nightmare. Didn’t ask her to, she just did. Looked awful.” She squeezed his hand again, brushing her thumb over his wrist. “Is… that what it was this one was? Because I’m alright, and I’m not gonna leave you.” 

_Never leave me. Never._ “No, Rose… that wasn’t it this time.” 

He wished she’d stop inquiring, because the pulsing below his waist was getting more and more painful, but Rose was curious. Her face was… really close… “Was it the Time War?” 

Her breath tickled his cheek. If he moved his head to the right not even an inch, what would happen? “N-no.” 

He felt her frown. “Then wh—?”

The Doctor’s head snapped to the side of its own accord, forcing their lips to collide. _So soft_ … Rose froze for about a second before her hands wrenched out of his grip and tangled into his hair, kissing him with fervour. He reciprocated with wild frenzy, both of their lips fighting for dominance against each other. He felt like every inch of his skin was singing, his lips were tingling, and his tongue plunged into her mouth to have a taste of that pure Rose Tyler taste he’d only ever dreamt about. Her head fell back and she moaned into his mouth, the vibrations travelling from her throat and shooting down to his groin. The Doctor gripped the side of her face with one hand, his thumb trailing over the apple of her cheek, movements the complete opposite of their rough kiss. She licked his bottom lip, making him groan, and he coaxed her tongue into his mouth and sucked on it. Delicious Rose Tyler, better than ice cream or bananas or the best tea in the world. There it was again, that deliciously happy and painful tightness in his chest where his hearts were, that cursed sixth sense of his brought on by Rose Tyler.

“Doc— Doctor…” she breathed.

“ _Rose_ …” he moaned, leaving her mouth to pepper kisses down her jaw to her throat. 

_Fuck, the Doctor was kissing her_. The knowledge was making excitement bloom in her chest, and yet at the same time she wondered if he was only kissing her out of pity, or because he was relieved his dream (whatever it was) had been just that. She wasn’t sure she could live with either. Unwanted but there either way, a tear slid down her cheek and made contact with the Doctor’s thumb. He went stiff as a statue and pulled back a mere centimetre, his lips still hovering over hers. Rose kept her watery eyes on his chest. 

“Wh-why are you kissing m-me?” she stammered, her voice choked. 

The horror that had been inching through him evaporated at her words, replaced by a mix of relief, shock and slight irritation. Wasn’t it bloody obvious why he was kissing her? Was she so _blind_ to leave unnoticed all the times he stared at places he shouldn’t, smiled whenever she did, touched every inch of her that was deemed appropriate but lingered until it wasn’t? Well apparently she was… and now he was forced to face something he usually turned and ran from. He briefly thought back to Jackie saying that Rose had told her that he ‘couldn’t love, and if he could he wouldn’t love her’. Silly little human.

“I— Rose…” _Out with it, you coward_. “I w-want to,” he managed, and now that it was _finally_ out in the open he added on a sigh, “I always want to…” 

Her breath hitched in her throat and more tears spilled down her cheeks. She just _had_ to be dreaming, there was no way the Doctor was saying these things to her. “B-b-but—”

The Doctor leaned forward and kissed her again to shut her up, and because her lips were glistening and rosy ( _rose-coloured lips for Rose_ , he thought fondly). She responded just as wildly, grabbing his shoulders and shoving him onto the bed. He would have gasped but her lips were sealed against his, and then her hands slid over his face and _oh Rassilon her thighs straddled his waist_. His face flared with heat… surely now she could feel the effect she had on him, especially since it was pressed right up against _that place_ where her legs joined… It was rather like she _wanted_ him, almost as much as he wanted her. His right hand travelled upward and wiped the tears from her face.

His mind was hazy with lust, eager to slip his hand down those _pathetic_ pyjama shorts and plunge his digits into her soaking wet heat, and though he wanted it _so bloody badly_ he was terrified of how she’d react. Would she, like everyone else in his life, be repulsed by his libido? The knowledge that such an act was merely tolerated on his home world and completely forbidden with a _human_. But she wasn’t just a _human_ to him, as she believed— she was Rose Marion Tyler, Defender of the Earth, his wonderful, beautiful, clever, fantastic little companion that he wanted with him _forever_. 

“ _Maybe you could try, Doctor, and explore that part of yourself too._ ”

Maybe Sarah Jane was right. Maybe he _could_ try, try to indulge himself for once and allow himself to feel that passion humans had so much of; after all, it was with Rose. Maybe that was why his hand, previously in her hair, slipped down her waist, underneath the hem of her flimsy little chemise, and cupped her bare breast. They both groaned at his touch— she was _just as soft as he’d imagined_. Every inch his fingers trailed over sent sparks of pleasure up his arm, aided by Rose’s gentle sighs. Her hands left his face, and she sat back and grasped the edge of her shirt, pulling it over her head. He bit his lip, which still tasted of Rose, and growled at the sight of her soft breasts, at the image of his hand sliding over one of them. She delicately tossed the shirt onto the floor and began working on her shorts, shimmying them down her thighs and lifting each leg in turn until she was only clad in that pathetic little scrap of material she called knickers. 

“ _Rose_ ,” he gasped out a second time when she ground her pelvis into his erection. Well, looks like she noticed it then.

He experimentally flicked his thumb over her nipple and watched, fascinated, as she arched her back, pushing her breast into his palm. Thrilled by this discovery, the need to explore her heightened and he sat himself up on his elbow and caught her nipple between his lips, teasing it between his teeth. Rose made the sweetest little sound in the back of her throat, a cross between a kitten’s mewl and a husky sigh. The Doctor didn’t understand why he had the inexplicable urge to thrust his hips upward, but refrained just in case. Unfortunately it seemed Rose didn’t want that; she wiggled and rocked against his throbbing erection until he couldn’t stop himself from bucking his hips into her hot centre, grunting against her nipple. His other hand slipped down her stomach, which jerked at his touch, and tentatively fingered the lacy border of her knickers as though asking for permission. 

“Please, Doctor…” tumbled from her mouth. Well, that was permission enough. 

He shoved aside the scrap of fabric and jammed two fingers into her, once again echoing her groan when he found her soaking wet for him— _him_. She jerked viciously, a shuddering gasp bubbling in her throat, and without waiting for him Rose ground herself onto his fingers. His thumb searched through her folds and found her clit, which he scraped his nail over and made her moan loudly, almost scream. Another fantastic discovery. He found himself dreaming about hundreds of useful things he could do with that little bundle of nerves when Rose grasped his wrist and pulled him away. 

The Doctor searched her eyes, wondering why she stopped him, before she stuttered out on a breathy gasp, “Don’t want your fingers… want you now.” 

He licked his lips, suddenly terrified. “Rose—”

“Shh,” she murmured, silencing him as she reached for the hem of his night pants. 

Both of his hearts pounding in his chest, he fisted his hands and watched with wide eyes as she pulled his pyjama bottoms down his legs, tossing them away to join her shirt and her shorts. He was _naked_ in front of Rose Tyler. His erection jutted out, pressing into her hip. Her eyes skimmed over him briefly before she leaned her head down and took his length into her mouth. Soft… warm… _Rose_ … His thoughts jumbled together, he let out a garbled groan and his eyes rolled back into his head as her wet mouth hugged his cock. How could he have possibly been afraid of this? This was… brilliant. His Rose’s mouth around him… and—oh—she sucked on him, the inside of her mouth squeezing him. He forced his eyes open and nearly fell apart at the sight of Rose’s head bobbing over him… _fuck_ she was beautiful. Her blonde hair trailed over his thighs, moving along with her head and her mouth. 

“I— oh, _Rose_ ,” the Doctor moaned when she took him to the back of her throat, swallowing around him. A distinct pressure, painful yet welcomed with open arms, was slowly building up inside of him… his eyes closed again, anticipating the tightening knot, knowing it would soon snap. 

As if sensing it Rose sped up around him, clenching her throat around him again. His hips kept thrusting upward, pushing his erection deeper into her mouth, and making grunting and groaning and moaning sounds. A thrill swept over her— _she_ , Rose Tyler, human shop girl, was going to make the Doctor, almighty Time Lord, come. Eager for this wondrous feat to happen, she bared her teeth against him and licked the sensitive tip, keeping her eyes locked on his face, which was twisted with pleasure. Finally she hummed, the vibrations becoming his undoing, and he groaned loudly and spurted down her throat. She licked and swallowed every drop of him, the image of his face at the height of pleasure burned permanently in her mind. 

Just as she was about to sit back and take in a tousled, post-orgasm Time Lord he yanked her down to his level and crashed his lips onto hers again, tasting himself on her and feeling a possessive thrill at it. He lifted her off of his lap and laid her gently across his pillows, climbing on top of her. 

“ _Mine_ ,” he growled in Gallifreyan against her mouth. 

“Yours,” she agreed, and he didn’t have time to contemplate how she knew what he’d said before he grew hard again in a matter of seconds, and grabbed her hips, ripping her knickers off of her and plunging himself into her. 

Rose arched against him, pressing her breasts into his chest, a loud cry echoing through the room. _Rassilon_. He kept himself stiff, not moving even a centimetre, wanting to draw out the feeling of being inside Rose Tyler for as long as he could. Rose didn’t seem to think the same thing, though— she let out a frustrated mewl and wriggled her hips, trying to coax him to move. He resisted even though the urge to buck his hips was maddening, and it wasn’t until Rose whimpered his name that he finally started moving. 

It was slow and gentle at first, mirroring the string of sweet words he was holding back that described exactly what she was to him, and with each soft thrust she sighed with pleasure. The Doctor kept his eyes boring into hers, drinking in the sight of _his_ Rose underneath him, hair spread across _his_ pillow like a halo. Her eyes were half-closed but stared straight back at him, glazing over every time he pushed his cock into her heat. Slowly he leaned over and placed a kiss on each of her eyelids before brushing his lips against hers, mumbling how much she meant to him incorrigibly. She slipped her arms round his neck and kissed him properly, slipping her tongue into his mouth and flicking it over his. He groaned, speeding up his pace, loving the flavour of Rose Tyler that only _he_ was allowed to taste now. He changed his angle, the head of his cock hitting a spot inside her that made her half-moan half-scream and jerk upwards violently. Yet another fantastic discovery. He was used to exploring the universe. Now he was going to explore Rose Tyler. 

The Doctor grabbed her hips to steady her and pounded himself into her inner spot, making her scream repeatedly. “Rose… Rose… Rose… _my Rose_ …” he growled out, reaching down between her legs.

“Doctor, my Doctor,” she choked out, before he pressed down on her clit and she moaned. 

He felt her walls clenching around him and he sped up, eager to see Rose Tyler shatter underneath him. Her whole body went rigid and he watched as he continued to fuck her; her eyes rolled back into her head, her whole body arched into him and she screamed his name as though it were the holiest word in the galaxy. He committed the sight to memory before pounding into her, chasing his own high now. 

“Doc… tor…” gurgled out of Rose’s mouth. 

“Rose…” he whispered, feeling the delicious tightness make its return. 

“I…” she moaned before licking her lips. Gods, he was close. “I _love_ you, Doctor…”

He came at her words, shouting a string of curse words in Gallifreyan into her ear and spilling himself into her. He collapsed on top of her, physically spent and ready to curl up with his Rose and fall back asleep. The Doctor rolled onto his side and snatched Rose into his hold, her breasts crushed against his chest again as they both breathed heavily. _Hang on a second, did she just say she…?_

“I know…” Rose panted, “I know you don’t feel the same… but you ought to know that I _really do_ love you…”

 _How presumptuous_ , was his first stupid thought. Drawing himself up as best he could laying down, he looked at her and growled, “Silly Rose Tyler, you are not just ‘some human’ to me; you’re my wonderful, beautiful, clever little companion and I lvv yyrhl…” His words turned into an embarrassed gurgle, his entire visage flaming now. 

Rose was starting to smile. “You what?” 

“I… erm, weeell…” He rubbed the back of his neck, no longer looking at her. “I l-love you, Rose Tyler,” he stammered, resisting the urge to hide his face in the sheets. 

She was beaming now. “Yeah?” 

He nodded. “Yeah.” 

She bit her lip and buried her face in his neck, where the Doctor could feel her grinning. He grinned too and tossed a leg around her waist, mentally thanking the TARDIS for all the torture she put him through to get him to this fantastic moment. The TARDIS responded with the equivalent of a squeal of delight, and showed him various images of the hundreds of planets waiting for them. Oh, he was going to whisk his love away on more adventures than she could imagine.

“Hang on,” he suddenly realised, “You understood Gallifreyan.”

“Hmm?” she murmured, still beaming into his neck. 

“When I said…” He swallowed embarrassedly, “‘Mine’. I said that in Gallifreyan.”

“Oh,” Rose replied, now tracing patterns on his chest. “I heard English. Must be the TARDIS, yeah?” She froze. “Hang on… you got hard again really quick. Usually takes blokes fifteen minutes to get hard again.” 

He blushed. “Two hearts, quicker blood flow.”

She grinned. “S’not like I’m complaining. You’ll have your work cut out for you.”

He chuckled and held her tighter to him, mentally asking the TARDIS, if he ever tried to resist Rose again, to remind him of that night. Because for once in his shadowed life, there was light, and its name was Rose Tyler. 

*

It was months later. The Doctor watched from the distance, hands shoved in his pockets and a silly grin on his face, as his beautiful little pink and yellow companion bounced around the bustling inter-species marketplace. She wore a bright yellow sundress that hugged the figure he’d gotten to know so well, and he openly admired it. He’d been meaning to take her to this planetary bazaar for ages, but it’d seemed like they hadn’t had much time between saving the universe multiple times and shagging like the world would end every night. He watched, thoughtful, as Rose expertly haggled over a jaded v-shaped necklace, intending to give it to her mum for Easter. She learned so quickly, his Rose, so clever. 

“‘Scuse me, sir,” croaked out a wispy voice to his right, briefly pulling his attention from Rose. He took in a wrinkled old female with mottled blue skin, draped in cloth, standing behind a vending booth of trinkets. “S’that your lady wife over there?” 

“Not my wife, but yeah, she’s mine,” the Doctor said proudly, shooting Rose a look of pure adoration, which she missed.

“Maybe you ought to think about making her your wife, yeah?” The woman gestured to her trinkets. “Got a lovely selection of engagement rings you could choose from.”

The Doctor, being rude and not ginger, almost snorted and asked her if she was barmy. Then he froze and looked thoughtfully at his lovely little human, who was eagerly watching her vendor wrap the jaded necklace in brown cloth. Rose often told him she didn’t need domestics, or children, or a house or a diamond ring, just him. Yet, despite how much her words pleased him (oh how they pleased him) he knew she enjoyed normalcy now and then... especially weddings. They’d only just been invited to Shareen’s cousin’s wedding, in which Rose sighed and shed tears with her mate and the Doctor just stared at the sight of _his_ Rose clad in a tight frothy pink dress with a plunging neckline. Remembering Jackie’s comment about him having commitment issues, he shifted so that if Rose looked over she wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing.

His eyes skimmed over the large selection of overly glittery rings. Most of them were costume jewels (though the vendor probably didn’t know that) but a couple of them caught the Doctor’s eye. He chuckled to himself. Never in all his Time Lord years did he ever expect to be preening over rings. Still, the thought of that TARDIS blue jewel, perched atop a swirling gold band, resting itself on Rose’s delicate finger made him shiver with delight.

“Right-o,” he said, snapping himself back to reality, “I’ll take that one.” He pointed.

Beaming with delight, the old woman plucked the ring from its holder and slipped it into a velvet box. He paid, shoving the box into his transdimentional pockets as discreetly as he could, and his attention was captured once more by a beaming Rose who waved him over, eager to show him her purchase. They strolled off together, clasping hands as tightly as possible without it hurting.

“The places you take me, Doctor,” Rose sighed, leaning into him and dizzying him with her warm Rose Tyler scent. “Mum’s going to be so pleased. You know how she likes outdoing everyone; gonna feel like a queen, she is, being the only woman on Earth with alien trinkets.”

“Just as long as it distracts her from slapping me about,” the Doctor said, trying to grumble but failing as he was now nuzzling his nose into her hair. “Was talking with her the other day and she hit me! Again! All because I said you were the only thing she’s ever done right.”

“Not sure if I should be complimented or angry with you,” Rose said, though she grinned. “Mr. Rude-and-not-ginger.”

He beamed at his nickname, but his grin slipped off immediately when he noticed some bull-headed alien man eyeing _his_ Rose with appreciation. Though they were in the middle of a street full of people he whirled her around, kissing her deeply enough that she moaned— _moaned, in public!_ —and while his lips tasted Rose Tyler he sent the man an Oncoming Storm glare, preening as what’s-his-face cringed back.

And he knew the old woman had been right. It was about time the Doctor made Rose Tyler visibly his, for everybody to see— even if marriage to a human on Gallifrey was a death sentence, even if Rassilon rose from the dead just to beat him over the head for it. He’d put that ring on her finger and nobody else would look at her but him, and that would be more than enough, because she _was_ his, was his ‘it’. ‘The one’, as humans called it. He always snorted at the phrase but now it made so much sense. Seeing that ring on her finger would probably make both of his hearts burst.

He just had to find the perfect time and place to give it to her. But he was a Time Lord, so that shouldn’t be _too_ hard. Right?

**Author's Note:**

>  **Beta: unbeta'd, but heavily edited by yours truly :)**.  
>  **All my fics can be found on fanfiction.net, teaspoon and tumblr**.  
>  A/N: Sorry for the length of this one shot :) References to season 2 episode 10 of House, M.D. "Failure to Communicate", which is © David Shore, Fox and associates.  
> EDITS: Cleaned up some dialogue, grammar and sentence structure (wow, I could not spell 3 years ago). Took out some useless details and took out the ice cream part, cos that was just so dumb -_- Thank you for putting up with that. Also removed a Downton Abbey reference, because this is meant to be set in 2006-ish and that show didn't start til 2010, and the Cuddy and House episode reference, which didn't air until season 6/7 in 2010. PLEASE, if I make mistakes like this, please point them out. Much obliged ♥


End file.
